Tell Me What the Rain Knows
by kitsunelover
Summary: AU Kurama won the match, though it was Karasu who escaped with his life. But at what cost? What is life with neither your heart or sanity intact?


_Tell Me What the Rain Knows_

Disclaimer: YYH is the creation of Togashi Yoshihiro, and heaven knows I'm not making any monetary profits from writing fics.

A/N: This is a short, slightly AU piece, in a timeline where Karasu has lost to Kurama, but Kurama died. Personally, I find this fic rather depressing. There is **shonen-ai**, so please refrain from reading any further if you find that kind of material distasteful.

Title taken from a Maaya Sakamoto song.

. . .

It was raining.

Karasu sat alone at the table, a jug of sake before him. He had not yet touched the liquor, though he wished to drown in it. The relentless patter of raindrops wove a hypnotic spell which held him still.

It seemed as if the raindrops were speaking to him. _Did you love him?_ they asked.

Normally, Karasu would have delighted in the weather. From the window, the sky was silver-gray satin, and it looked as if endless sacks of pearls were being emptied in the ocean. His view was beautiful.

"Tell me how anyone who looked upon him could not!" he cried, and the despair in his voice said what was impossible to put into words.

_And yet you killed him._

"It was an act of mercy. He is – he is spared the indignity of old age."

_You know that is a lie_. Karasu had never before wished that water could be strangled.

"He was able to win only because he died," said Karasu.

The pounding on the roof increased in volume. _Poor consolation_, they whispered mockingly.

"What would you have from me?" Karasu turned violently from the window.

_Nothing_. But the word was uttered in so self-satisfied a manner that Karasu was instantly suspicious.

"You know something. What is it? Tell me!" Turning back, his violet eyes were wide, and his fists were clenched upon the table.

_Ah, yes. We do know something of your beloved kitsune. But knowledge is dear._

"What do you want for it?"

A clear trill rose above the rhythmic beating of rain as a few particularly large drops splattered on the glass window. A chuckle. _What have you to give?_

Karasu thought, and then laughed cynically. "My soul."

_And you would give that to us?_

His laugh deepened. "It is of no use to me." Then he sobered. "I would give anything for him."

To Karasu it seemed that the rainfall softened. _Well-spoken. _A gust of wind stirred the surface of the ocean, and it sounded like a sigh.

"Talk of him now," said Karasu, who trembled.

_He is lying on his back in a gutter, where they have thrown him. His brilliant hair is splayed out spectacularly. His eyes and mouth are closed, and he looks as if he rests in peace. The cold has drained the color from his face, but that is not entirely unpleasant, for he now appears to be carved from alabaster. We are the only ones keeping him company; we caress his skin and wash the dust from him. And as we slide down his neck . . . do we feel a pulse?_

With a crash, the jug of sake shattered on the floor. Karasu had started and was half to his feet.

_Run to him_, called the rain, _and kiss the wet from his lips and temples, hold him as if there is no tomorrow. His pulse is no more than the beating of a butterfly's wings. Love him, and heal him._

Slowly, Karasu sank back into his chair. "That can't be true," he said, utterly impassive. "I killed him."

For an instant, the rain hit harder than yet it had ever done. _Apathy will be the death of us all._ Karasu paid no heed. He could no longer tell if the rain was mocking him.

_Well, well, his pulse is already slowing. You could not have saved him after all._

"Shut up!" roared Karasu, who had no sake to drown in anymore, only his tears.

_Certainly. But you promised us your soul._

Karasu hid his head in his arms. His hair, a shining river of ebony, spilled over his white fingers. "You have been deceived," he murmured, "for I lost it to Kurama, and have nothing for you."

The realization had only just struck him. A weak, ironic laugh escaped him.

Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled threateningly. The darkening sky seemed angry.

But what of that? Karasu cared no more for the rain, and wept.

. . .

A/N: My object here was a rather desperate, heartbroken Karasu – one that's basically going to pieces. Anyone care to review?


End file.
